


The Fortitude of Moonpie Months

by Byacolate



Series: Claws and Crumbs and Red Bean Buns [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Established Relationship, M/M, Mates, Noodleshop AU, Ramen, Weredragon Hanzo, Werewolf Jesse McCree, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: Hanzo is a poet, Jesse is a scoundrel, and Fareeha's pet tortoise is a victim of fashion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aigis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aigis/gifts).



> A commission for the very thoughtful Aigis chronicling thmonths in between the events of Spring Onion and its epilogue. I hope you enjoy!

[thinking of getting a cat]

 

Jesse glances up at the screen column of digital clocks on the drop ship, dragging his eyes down to Tokyo. Despite the fist he’s leaning on and the way it mushes his cheek, Jesse finds himself grinning. It won’t be midnight in Hanamura for another hour, but he knows Hanzo will be in bed. Hopefully with that stylish hot pink sleep mask with the googly eyes Jesse sent him from Barcelona.

 

Across the ship, Reyes is going over the mission statement again. If Jesse knows him at all, he’s adding plans B, C, and D in his head. If all goes well, Jesse expects to need nothing beyond B. He turns back to his phone, tapping away at a double text.

 

[clarification: to remind me of u] 

 

When he looks back up, Reyes is staring at him over his datapad. Jesse winks back at him, morphing the hand propping his chin into a finger gun. Reyes' eyebrows tick up. “What are you so busy laughing to yourself about?”

 

“The usual cowboy memes. You want me to share?”

 

A corner of Reyes’ mouth quirks as he lowers his eyes back to his pad. “Send me one more meme and I’ll have you put on grunt rotation.”

 

“You wouldn’t,” Jesse groans, sitting up straighter. “I’m your best man.”

 

“You’re all my best men.” Reyes rubs below his lips with a finger before he swipes at something on his screen. “That’s what we train you for.”

 

“You’d miss me.”

 

“You know something? You’re right.” Reyes nods, lifting an ankle to rest over his knee. “You’re irreplaceable to me, Jeremy.”

 

[honeybunch, i’m receiving some cruel and unusual punishment from my boss man]

 

[my heart’s a little broken and my honor? shambles]

 

Athena’s voice chimes in his earpiece, spooking Jesse so badly he nearly drops his phone. “Estimated time of arrival in São Paulo: fifteen-hundred hours.”

 

“Thanks for that,” Jesse grumbles, holding a hand to his chest. 

 

The crisp and cheerful, “You are welcome,” makes Jesse grin despite himself. He can’t tell if Winston had any luck with Athena’s sarcasm module, but the wondering is half the fun.

 

Movement from Reyes draws Jesse’s eye. It's the old familiar press against the ear piece with a delicate middle finger that tells Jesse that Strike Commander Morrison is on the line. If Jesse told Reyes he had a tell, he’d unlearn it just to be contrary. Under the brim of his hat, he watches Reyes’ stern face soften around the edges until he looks a little more like Gabriel, even as he starts to mutter what are surely tactical plans. 

 

Jesse has known only a few matebonded pairs in his life. By law of large numbers alone, partnerships with humans are more common. Mateship as a legal contract is common enough, but a mutual matebond with a human is physiologically impossible. And even disregarding these factors, partnerships strictly between people like Jesse or Reyes did not always yield matebonds; many relationships among beastfolk are casual, and others find that their pheromones are simply incompatible. Despite the pharmaceutical industry’s great leaps and bounds with their intention to remedy incompatible pheromones, in the intercommunity such treatments are controversial at best. 

 

Finding another like oneself with compatible pheromones and the desire to Bond is rare indeed. The stuff of fairytales. It makes Jesse’s chest go bowstring-tight to think that somehow he - maybe, even he could…

 

“Yeah, he’s busy catching flies.” Reyes’ voice cuts through his thoughts, and Jesse closes his mouth, shooting Reyes a dirty look. He gets a smirk and a wink in return before focusing his attention back on whatever’s happening in the earpiece. 

 

But now Jesse’s head’s on funny, and his thoughts follow one avenue. He opens his text chat with Hanzo back up, scrolling through goodnight texts and small talk about the ramen shop, and more small talk but far more vague around the classified nature of Jesse’s work. Legally, Jesse isn’t allowed to divulge a strike team’s whereabouts. Even sending pictures of sunsets might put him on thin ice. Jesse understands, even though sometimes a man just wants to share these things with his -

 

The phone in his hand vibrates twice, shaking him from his reverie. [I can do nothing for your honor.]

 

Jesse grins to himself, sitting forward and leaning both elbows on his knees. He starts to reply, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees that Hanzo is still typing. A double text from Mister Shimada is rare, and Jesse stares twice as hard at the screen in the hopes that his hasty start didn’t drive Hanzo to silence. 

 

[Honor is like glass. Once cracked, it must be shattered and swept away for a new sheet.]

 

For twenty patient seconds, Jesse waits for a third text that never comes. He hangs his head and sighs before dragging his phone closer. [what are you, robert frost?]

 

He half believes Hanzo will have disappeared again to sleep, but after several seconds of silence, he can see Hanzo typing again.

 

[That is a poet?]

 

Jesse rubs under his lips with a forefinger as warmth blooms in his chest. [yeah]

 

And, [if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck…]

 

He freezes when Hanzo starts typing. 

 

[I changed so quickly from poet to duck. Like shedding a sweater.]

 

Jesse’s grin shows its teeth.

 

[figure of speech. u talk enough poetry, someone’s gonna call you out ;) someone like me ;)))]

 

[A scoundrel.] 

 

Jesse sits back a moment. He likes the sound of that.

 

[i like the sound of that!]

 

Across the vessel, Reyes stands before he turns his back to Jesse. He saas something too quiet even for Jesse to hear, and touches the device in his ear as he turns back. “Whatever you’re giggling about, put it away for a second and grab your gear.”

 

Jesse sends a quick kiss emoji to Hanzo before he switches his phone off and tucks it away in his back pocket. Reyes tosses him his kit, and through muscle memory alone, Jesse feels himself transform from Man In Love to Agent with the snap of a buckle.

 

It's back to business as usual.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Jesse?”

 

Jesse squints down at his artistic endeavor, poking his tongue between his teeth. “Nnhm.”

 

“Why are you bullying Hatshepsut?”

 

With a delicate finger, Jesse scoots his miniature toothpick bow and arrow closer to Fareeha’s pet tortoise. But no matter how he tries, the angle just isn’t right no matter how he shifts his phone camera. “I ain’t bullyin’ her,” Jesse mutters, carefully leaning the makeshift bow against the shell. “I’m helpin’ her accessorize.”

 

Crouched across from him, Fareeha plants both elbows on her knees and crams her fists against her cheeks. Gabe’s sunglasses skew up when she tilts her head to the side. “Doesn't she already have an accessory?”

 

“She can only have one?” Jesse asks, balancing his phone in one hand and the precariously tilted toothpicks with the other. “What is she, a nerd? A big ol’ boring nerd like Jack?”

 

Fareeha snickers into her palm and Jesse manages a shot just as Hatshepsut pokes her head out of her shell. The shift makes the bow fall, and Jesse checks the picture. He grumbles a curse, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Fareeha, and runs his tongue over his front teeth. “You know what?” he says, tapping at his phone as Hatshepsut slowly starts to crawl away. “I’m thinkin’ a video will have to do. Come back here, little lady...”

 

It takes five hour for Hanzo to respond, which is only to be expected; when he is at work, he works. The time for play comes after, and Jesse is a Time For Play. Jesse reckons that’s fine by him - better than being _work_. He pauses chewing a mouthful of instant mix pancakes when it vibrates and drops the fork to his plate with a clatter that earns a frown from Angela across the mess hall.

 

[Who is the tortoise?]

 

Jesse wipes a smudge of syrup from the corner of his lips like Hanzo is there in the flesh with eyes on him. [what do u mean? that’s you]

 

He watches as Hanzo types his messages out, thoughtful as always.

 

“Finish your breakfast. You’ll be needing it,” Reyes’ voice comes behind him, cuffing him upside the head as he passes by. Jesse mumbles a response he doesn’t hear himself as Hanzo’s message pops up.

 

[How do you mean?]

 

And shortly after, [I know how pleased my asking must make you.]

 

[everything about you pleases me] is what Jesse types, before his face twists up and he deletes it all. [i was gonna say “everything about you pleases me” but u know, in english that just sounds real skeevy]

 

He makes a face back at the nauseated emoji with its tongue lolling out as he sends. He takes a bite of his breakfast as Hanzo types his response.

 

[Then why don’t you say it in Japanese.]

 

He’s being teased - Jesse knows he is, but something in his gut starts to heat and it isn’t the pancake ration.

 

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Wilhelm asks as Jesse stands, stroking his greying beard behind a stack of plates licked clean.

 

“Quarters,” Jesse answers as he deftly dodges Dr. O'Deorain on her way in without looking up from his phone.

 

[what else do u want me to say in japanese ;)]

 

Down the long corridor to the private bunks, Jesse nearly trips over his feet when his phone begins to ring, Hanzo’s emoji name filling up his screen.

 

“Hey honey,” he says, pressing his hand to the scanner by the door. Is he breathless? He feels breathless.

 

“That is not Japanese,” Hanzo answers cooly in his native tongue. A wash of warmth floods Jesse’s innards as he pushes his door open and falls against it when it shuts.

 

“It’s good to hear your voice,” he says in compliance instead. Hanzo snorts at the other end of the line and it feels like he’s there.

 

“We video chat nigh constantly.”

 

“You and I think very differently in terms of once a week!” Jesse insists, shoving his free hand in his pocket. “What have you been up to?”

 

Hanzo’s quiet laughter makes his chest feel fuzzy - almost as fuzzy as the rest of him. “Work keeps me busy. Genji keeps me busier.”

 

Unspoken between them runs the relief that Hanzo’s younger brother remains with him in Hanamura. They’re building back to something special, and what makes Hanzo happy makes Jesse happy. “And how’s business?”

 

“Business is exactly how it has always been,” Hanzo scoffs. Jesse can practically hear him preening over the phone. Jesse McCree is nothing if not a man tickled to bits to feed that ego.

 

“Well you and I both know that’s on account of the fact that you work yourself to the bone, dragon man,” he croons.

 

It is always good to hear Hanzo’s voice. Now he sounds tired, but a good sort of tired - the kind of tired he gets when he’s had a productive day and he’s gearing himself up for  a more productive tomorrow. Hanzo’s work ethic is inspiring, if not exhausting, and Jesse wanders over to his bunk as Hanzo recalls the events of the day in 120 characters or less.

 

He casually alludes to weekend plans, and metaphorically or not, Jesse’s ears perk up.

 

“What are you up to this weekend?” he asks, pillowing his organic arm behind his head. He can hear Hanzo fiddling around with ceramic on the other line and assumes he must be making tea.

 

“Genji has something or other planned,” Hanzo tells him. He keeps his voice even, but Jesse knows him. He was happy enough that his brother was there; that they might coexist and even enjoy each other’s company probably puts him on top of the world. More than anything, Jesse’d love to be there see it.

 

“He’s the one with the plan? Guess it won’t be take your brother to work day.”

 

The clink of ceramic is the only thing he hears for a moment. “I do not believe that translated well.”

 

Jesse repeats himself in English. “It’s a joke. A bad one now, I guess. Let me explain -”

 

Navigating the finer points of his poor attempt at humor, Jesse only realizes long after that Hanzo never really answered him.

 

His phone vibrates several times during the conversation, but it’s ignorable until he hears the rapid double-beat of Reyes’ private line.

 

“I’ll just hold that thought,” he interrupts himself mid-recollection and checks his messages.

 

[Training sim in 15 w honors.]

 

Jesse’s head thumps back, just nicking the headboard as he heaves an old dog’s sigh. His phone double vibes again and he peeks at it.

 

[14.]


	3. Chapter 3

“Sugar,” he groans in English, rolling over onto his side and then pushing himself up.

 

“You have to go.”

 

Jesse rubs at his bearded jaw. “It’s a… thing. A bondin’ activity, if you like. ‘specially for us pack-oriented sorts, but it’s a whole thing now, our crew’s pretty heavy with a lot of folk...”

 

“I understand.” He sounds like he does. Jesse picks at the seam of his jeans. 

 

“You'd like it,” he continues, ignoring the digital clock on the wall. “No matter how tactical we start, someone always starts the grapple chain.”

 

“Grapple chain?” There's laughter in Hanzo’s voice, and Jesse hears the sound of a door close. He's probably retired to his room for the night with a cup of his favorite tea in that soft black t-shirt he almost always wears to bed, his hair undone about his shoulders. Jesse thinks he might yearn to see him in this moment forever.

 

“Yeah, ‘s what I call it when one of the older fellas gives up the facade of a professional training simulation and switches to hand to hand - uh. Claw to claw. Then another pair drops their skin suits to bully each other to the floor. Then another. And slowly but ever so surely, honeybee,” he croons, “grapple chain.”

 

“Grapple chain,” Hanzo repeats, poorly concealing his amusement. Jesse bats his eyes to himself alone in his room. 

 

“You’re laughin’ now, but I’d bet my livin’ wages that you’d be the first link in that chain with any hint of opportunity.”

 

“Perhaps,” Hanzo concedes. “Why should one not utilize their strength in combat? Whether the combat is or is not casual matters very little.”

 

Running a palm over his aching chest, Jesse’s head tips forward. His quiet laughter is sincere, and for that its tone speaks volumes. “I miss you somethin’ fierce.” 

 

Nearly just as quiet, he hears Hanzo’s slow exhale on the other side of the world. “I know this.”

 

“Good. You oughta know it.” Jesse nods to himself and stands.

 

“Text me when you have had enough of your grapple chain,” Hanzo insists as Jesse cradles the phone between his ear and a shoulder as he shuffles out of his jeans for something with a little less restriction. “I will be waiting.”

 

Jesse nearly drops his phone and all but falls to the floor in his haste to have the last word. 

 

“Yeah, honey. You know I will.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When Ana drops him to the floor, nails like talons against his chest, Jesse wheezes out a laugh like a barking dog. “You know, this kinda reminds me of my first date with -”

 

“Speak no more and yield when you are bested,” Ana growls between her grinning fangs. Jesse yields.

 

“And you know,  _ this  _ kinda reminds me of my first date with -”

 

“Muzzle him,” Reyes grunts a few yards away, straining under the weight of a giant white bear. Reinhardt finally tires of playing the struggle and with a great roar of a laugh, he scoops Reyes off his feet. Reyes manages to roll into the impact when he's thrown across the room. The training mats rend in two long gauges before he propels himself back at Reinhardt at full speed, and Jesse winces - both for the third requisition for mats this year, and for the foam and fabric surely caked under Reyes’ claws at this very moment. Jesse just hopes he remembers to dig it out before shifting back to a more socially acceptable form; that's the kind of mistake you make only once.

 

“Eyes on me, smooth-talker,” Ana says, rolling back onto a crouch before standing over him. She holds out a hand for Jesse to take and hefts him up, fur and everything, with very little effort at all. “Now. Again, but better.”

 

Jesse dusts himself and heaves a heavy hearted sigh. Ana gives him a look when she pivots her body into a stance in preparation. “What is it?”

 

“Nothin’,” Jesse answers, casting his eyes to the floor. “It’s, uh… just that you remind me of my first date w-”

 

He barely dodges the shoe flung at him from the other side of the room. Reyes, one sock on and struggling to hold Reinhardt’s massive arms behind his back, points in their direction. “Good. Pay attention, because we’re switching.” He dismounts Reinhart’s back and helps him to his feet. “Morrison, you’re with Amari. Hong, with me. Wilhelm - have fun with McCree.”


	4. Chapter 4

[where do u think we go when we die?]

 

He figures he must have caught Hanzo on a late night, because his response is instantaneous. 

 

[What are you talking about so early in the day?]

 

And then before Jesse can respond, [No more of this.] 

 

Jesse holds the phone in his lap as he turns his grin toward the Swiss Alps. [i got tossed around like a rag doll by a Bear for running my mouth during training. can’t think of a better time to contemplate the afterlife]

He sits upright when an image file comes in. It’s a selfie of Hanzo looking supremely unimpressed. Jesse’s heart melts. 

  
[aren’t u a sight for sore eyes]

 

[Do not derive pleasure from this.]

 

[too late! pleasure derived]

Another image file appears not a moment later with Hanzo looking somehow even less amused which naturally tickles Jesse pretty pink. 

 

[i really couldn’t be more pleased!] he says, sending a few dozen kiss and heart emojis for good measure. [wish i could see that face right now. pretty as a picture.]

 

It takes a few long moments for Hanzo to respond. When he does, it is a single but profound red heart. It goes right to Jesse’s.

 

[you should sleep, honeybee. it’s late]

 

[I should. I will go.]

 

[gnight] Jesse sends with a few more kisses thrown in. When the screen goes dark, he taps the phone to his chin. 

 

“You done moping?” Reyes asks across the room, flipping through one of Angela’s magazines. Jesse throws an arm over his face with a deep sigh. His reward for the theatrics is little more than a dry snort.

 

“Nah, boss, I'm crushed. Thanks to you these ribs will never heal.”

 

“We'll get you some new ones,” comes Reyes’ voice, punctuated by another flip of a page. “Indestructible metal alloy ribs.”

 

“Ain't I already enough of a comic book caricature?” Jesse huffs. He drops the arm and keeps a hand on his ribs as he slowly hefts himself up into a sitting position. Reyes has eyes on him the whole while - he can feel them.  

 

“I don't know. Sounds like something only a lot of soul searching could answer.” Reyes rubs under his lip. “Could get you some kind of prop.”

 

“Besides the arm and your hypothetical adamantium ribs?” Jesse grunts. Reyes tosses the magazine aside. It's an old issue anyway - dates somewhere around 2049. Every agent in the business must have leafed through it at least five times per head. 

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Besides those. Ought to get you a pipe or something.”

 

Laughter makes Jesse’s ribs ache something awful. “A pipe?”

 

“Sure. Why not?” Reyes waves a flippant hand. “We could give you a fitting new codename too. ‘Holmes’."

 

“Thought you wanted me to quit smoking, boss.”

 

Reyes’ lips purse. “Yeah, but.” He cups an invisible bowl just in front of his lips. “A pipe.”

 

While Reyes is in the middle of distracting Angela upon her return so he can escape, Jesse wonders if Hanzo breathes any smoke when he turns blue. What a sight. 

 

Hypothetically speaking. 

 

And hypothetically speaking, he kind of likes the idea if another physical affectation. Maybe a cooler hat or a superhero cape. He ought to ask Hanzo about it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

“If you keep texting during practice, I’ll think you’re not serious about this,” Genji’s voice rings out brightly across the dojo. Hanzo takes the towel from around his neck and mops at his sweat-soaked neck.

 

“You think yourself clever for using my own words against me.”

 

Genji’s laugh is a little breathless as he maintains two colorful sacks of synthetic beans in the air with his hands behind his back.. “Who, me? I think that I’m clever all the time, Brother.”

 

Hanzo smiles to himself, looking over Jesse’s most recent messages. He is on a plane to South Africa at the moment, acting as guard to ‘some dignitary or other’. His discretion had been unnecessary, for in spite of it, all of his hints paired with global news broadcasts eager to report on the mysterious organization, Hanzo knows that Overwatch is babysitting the Swiss ambassador.

 

It would be nice if an ambassador with such predilections for hiring superheroes would visit Japan. 

 

“Hah. Think f-”

 

Hanzo’s instincts flare and he jerks a hand up to whack at the bright orange sack launched in his direction. The blue one, he catches. 

  
“Aw, Brother,” Genji groans with his whole body as Hanzo’s claws dig into the sack. Little beads as fine as Israeli couscous scitter across the floor when they land; when the sack falls, it stays put. “How much could one man possibly hate fun?”

 

“How much could one man pester his brother into unspeakable acts of violence?”

 

[I hope you land safely.] he taps after turning his back to Genji. His thumb hovers briefly over the SEND button, wondering for a split second if such a thing could be seen as smothering. 

 

To Jesse McCree? Not likely. He sends it without a third thought and tosses his phone and towel onto the gym bag on the floor. 

 

“Are you finally ready?” Genji grunts, balanced precariously on both hands with his toes pointed toward the high ceiling. Hanzo folds his arms across his chest as Genji pushes his entire body weight, arms tense with the strain as Genji attempts total nonchalance. Hanzo bends over to snatch the orange sack off the floor. 

 

He tosses it once into the air and then with an expert flick of the wrist, sends it flying into Genji’s taut back. He yelps a curse, voice cracking as he falls to the floor in a sweaty heap. Hanzo feels immeasurably better. “Yes,” he laughs at Genji’s sullen face, feeling the dragon stir within his body in fire-hot waves, “I believe I am.”


	5. Chapter 5

They’re just documents. Totally blank, innocuous sheets of digital paper minding their own business in Jesse’s phone. The implications they carry exist only in Jesse’s mind and shouldn’t be held accountable for all the leg-jiggling and toe-tapping that’s catching the stink eye from Doctor Ziegler.

 

“Jesse,” she says in a tone contradictory of all the tick points of irritation in her posture, “what could be troubling you?”

 

Reclined in what feels more or less like a padded dentist’s chair in the science wing of the Iraqi base, Jesse glances at his arm across the room. He’s only in for a routine checkup for his arm. Winston may be out on a job, but Jesse’s in good - and very pointy hands. Doctor O'Deorain’s an intimidating woman, and her formal title may not lie in robotics engineering, but in a sea of competent folk, she’s floating somewhere near the top. 

 

Though Angela’s bedside manner leaves something to be desired, she’s the only medical practitioner in the room. And while it’s hard to read O'Deorain’s expression on a good day, Jesse gets the vibe she’d rather be doing anything than playing nursemaid.

 

“Oh I ain’t troubled, Doc,” he says with a wink and a grin that normally warms Amari to him. “Couldn’t be better.”

 

“It’s quite normal to feel the jitters when an experimental geneticist is fiddling with your limbs,” says O'Deorain at her station. Her blithe sense of humor always reminded him of Reyes, and maybe a little bit like Hanzo. Though, truth be told, they were normally stationed so far apart that Jesse rarely had the pleasure of her company. Could be that precisely the reason he found himself taking a .liking to her all along was how difficult she seemed to be to like.

 

“Minister of Genetics,” Jesse tries. O'Deorain doesn't even face him with a sideways glance. 

 

“Don't be cute.”

 

“Aw no, that ship’s long sailed.” 

 

This does get an uptick of those sharply painted lips. It's a win for Jesse McCree. 

 

Much as he trusts these folks with his flesh and his iron, he doesn't rightly know how he'd even start to describe this - the cocktail of emotions fizzling in his gut at the thought of the mateship docs burning a hole through the pocket of his jeans. 

 

Doc Ziegler finally gives up on psyching herself out for the inevitability of Jesse’s toe tapping and takes the results of her examination to the window. Glass makes up the entirety of the wall, bubbled out in a pleasant curve overlooking the warm, bright visage of Oasis. From the outside looking in, Jesse knows the window to be tinted gold like the sands beyond the city. It’s a pretty sight, but it’s far removed from the lazy bustle of a Japanese town built on a mountaintop swathed in grey stone, a shower of pink petals, and the red of good fortune. 

 

Yeah, it’s a pretty sight, but Jesse’s seen prettier.

 

Patting at the phone in his pocket, Jesse does some mental calculations - he remembers that it’s too late in Hanamura for responsible sleeper Shimada Hanzo to be awake to talk, but it doesn’t stop Jesse from wanting. 

 

Seeing as he's no source of amusement for his doctor friends and the alternative is vulnerable one-armed silence, he gives into his desires and digs the phone out. 

 

[what has two legs, one arm, and digests dairy with minor to moderate difficulty]

 

He smiles to himself, and nearly makes to lean on his prosthetic before he remembers that it’s all the way across the room.  

 

[i know what ur thinking]

 

[“Why Jesse! I didn't know you were still in possession o’ both of your strapping muscular legs!”]

 

[let me tell you, it weren't easy]

 

[everyone wants a piece of this pie]

 

[but there's only enough for you honey bee]

 

[well, u and the son of a bitch who blew off my arm]

 

[anyway]

 

[just thinkin about u]

 

Thinking about other things too. Jesse feels his chest hitch at the thought. It's just too early to be thinking about things like -

 

“Your arm.”

 

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Jesse's gaze flicks to Moira. Years if training keep him from looking around himself like a goon. O'Deorain shouldn't have been able to sneak up on him like that. Even texting Hanzo shouldn't have been able to tune him out so much that he wouldn't notice her approach. But he probably had time to ruminate on that later.

 

“Uh.”

 

She settles the arm at the port socket in Jesse’s shoulder. Magnetized, it snaps into place and begins to reconnect to muscle tissue and a complex innerworking of nodes. It feels like little electric jolts flickering up his veins - uncomfortable, but familiar.

 

Returned from the window, Ziegler tests his vitals, watching his blood pressure and brain waves on a little screen in her hand as the prosthetic connects. He must look real charming now, with a thin sheen of sweat, suction cupped wires connected to his temples and his chest, face contorted with supreme discomfort. 

 

“Recalibration should be complete,” Angela says, tapping at her screen. “Why don’t you test it out? Flex each finger please, starting with your thumb.”

 

Jesse’s a decent patient, and an even better test subject. He does exactly as he’s told, going through the motions he must have done a dozen times before. He knows the drill even as he’s prompted to leave the chair. “Alright, we are nearly done here. Please leave your clothes in the chair and shift, Jesse.”

 

When he does, muscle flesh and bone expanding, contorting, his senses heightening, the arm shifts with him. He holds still but for Ziegler’s tests as he takes in the sharper scents of the room - the faint tang of cleaning product, a lingering trace of rabbit, and the feathered thing trapped under O'Deorain’s flesh. Jesse’s never seen her in all her glory, but if her hair is any indication, he reckons she must be real conspicuous.

 

She looks and smells like a bird of prey, so it’s probably too on the nose to say that she watches him like a hawk. He flexes when he’s told while they monitor every twitch and shift in his transformed prosthetic. While he stands, his mind begins to wander again.

 

The change doesn’t render his mind state in any particular way - he feels no spike or dip in inhibitions or instinct. His transformation here is clinical, and in a way, the disparity between shifting for science and shifting, as usual, to bond with his patchwork pack nearly makes him somber at his core.

 

“You look morose,” says O'Deorain, leaning against her desk with arms folded over her chest. 

 

Jesse rumbles, “It’s just my face. Real hangdog.”

 

She laughs. Sarcastically, sure, but there’s probably real humor somewhere in there. “Could it have something to do with the cause of your erratic muscle twitches?”

 

“Dunno what you mean. Always had a jerky leg.”

 

“Hm.” 

 

Ziegler taps at her datapad with finality and stands up, somehow, even straighter. “Right, Jesse, you may change back now. We are through for today.”

 

While Jesse starts patting himself down for his things, Dr. O'Deorain hands him a medical sheet with all his vitals. Reyes doesn’t like a paper trail, but Morrison thinks it’s clean and honest to have at least one official document per agent a year. “Your body language is even making humans anxious,” O'Deorain snorts. Jesse glances across the large room where Ziegler is engrossed in a monitor. “You might want to get that sorted.”

 

“I’m workin’ on it,” Jesse mutters, fumbling with his belt buckle. His finer motor skills are calibrated alright or they wouldn’t be sending him home, but it’s a mental thing - tends to coddle his arm the first half hour or so after he gets it reattached. Just in case.

 

“Hm,” is the noise she makes in lieu of sounding convinced. “Well. Whatever it is, best of luck to you. Nothing in this world was ever accomplished by a man sitting around and tapping his toes.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

He’s not gonna ask Hanzo to send him a scarf. Or an undershirt. Or his unmentionables. He’s feverishly, desperately not gonna try to convince Hanzo to work out in an old t-shirt, carefully ziploc it up tight, and express mail it to Jesse just because he’s lonesome. He hasn’t stooped that low, not yet, and hopefully not ever.

 

Still, his thumbs hover over his phone waiting to say… something. He’s in South Korea, the closest he’s been to Japan since leaving Hanamura. But how’s he supposed to put that in a text on such short notice? What’s he supposed to say? 

 

‘Wanna see you, but I can’t.’ That’ll go over well. 

 

‘Hey, we’re in the same timezone now! But we definitely can’t meet on account a’ you being totally surprised by the news and me being absolutely disallowed civilian contact on this mission.’ That ain’t really any more detailed than the first when it comes right down to it.

 

‘Miss you like always.’ True, but without mentioning his proximity even in passing he’d feel a little… withholding.

 

“McCree, eight minutes and counting,” Reyes warns through a full mouth. Jesse barely manages to duck an unpopped kernal of corn to the head. 

 

Jesse mutters a, “Yeah, yeah old man, hold your horses,” and leaves the dinky kitchenette table to plop down on the sofa opposite Reyes. He goes to prop his feet in Reyes’ lap and Reyes, smiling sweetly, gives an instant nerve pinch to the calf that makes his entire leg go numb. Cursing and gingerly dragging his dead leg to the floor, Jesse counts his tactics as a pyrrhic victory - at least now Reyes won’t be trying to drag him closer.

 

It’d be pretty hypocritical of him to try and knock the phone out of Jesse’s hands anyway; Reyes is texting too. 

 

Their usual pre-mission ritual began years ago, when watching a film in the company of Wolves to take the edge off the night before doing Overwatch’s dirtier work went from a one time occurrence to commonplace. To tell the truth, Jesse thinks the comfort in the ritual stems less from the movie and more from the laid back company of another trusted Wolf. Getting medieval about it, you might even call it “Pack” - just not to Reyes’ face if you didn’t want a dressing down so severe you might as well be skinned alive.

 

It’s simple, effective, and to be honest, it’s downright pleasant. He’d like to think that Reyes thinks so too. 

 

[there’s an empty space on the couch beside me]

 

[wish u could fill it )`:]

 

He wants to be honest with Hanzo. He wants…

 

[i’m close. real close. can’t say where, but i can’t stop thinkin about how close you are, and it’s killing m]

 

Biting the inside of his cheek, he erases most of the message.

 

[hey. I’m real close to u right now. location undisclosed. it’s makin me heartsick]

 

Reyes snorts at something on his phone. Jesse’s a mite jealous he can talk openly with his -

 

[i’ve been thinking about some things] he starts, and deletes it all immediately. [i’d like to see you more than anything but it aint in the cards for us just yet]

 

Relief fills him like a balloon without air when he sees that Hanzo has come online. Then his phone starts to ring, and Jesse nearly jumps a mile. Feeling like he’s the kicked puppy and doing the kicking, he swipes to reject the call. 

 

[sry] he sends with a thousand crying emojis. [boss next to me]

 

[Sorry.]

 

[i’m the one who gets to be sorry. feelin real sorry for mySELF! love to hear ur voice]

 

Too cheesy? He erases the last sentence. And then he types it again. It’s the truth, after all. He scratches at his chest, trying not to feel too buzzed up on nerves as he watches Hanzo type.

 

[I understand.]

 

“Five minutes,” Gabe drones, sounding almost as if he doesn’t even hear himself. The movie selection is frozen in front of them on the safehouse’s holoscreen. A bad old horror film chosen with intent. Jesse turns his gaze back to the phone.

 

[got a lot i wanna say to you and only five minutes to do it]

 

[the boss will have my hide if i even mention a phone for the next 127 minutes]

 

[but i wanted to talk to u]

 

He rubs at the scruff growing under his bottom lip. [seems a waste not to make use of the one timezone]

 

He watches Hanzo type, and it’s as though the jittery feeling in his gut has begun to thaw into something molasses-slow and gooey. [I would not want to be wasteful.]

 

Boy howdy, but Jesse wants to ask him for an old sweaty undershirt. 

 

Rapidfire, Jesse asks Hanzo about his day (busy), his plans for the weekend (nonexistent), and his brother (still home), and by the time Reyes prods at him with a toe, Jesse’s run out of the pleasantries. 

 

[shit, i gotta] he starts to type, but to his surprise he sees Hanzo in the middle of typing too. Hanzo stops after Jesse does, but when Jesse doesn’t start again, Hanzo resumes.

 

[I want to see you.]

 

“Shit.”    
  


Reyes doesn’t comment on Jesse’s grumble and tucks his own phone away. 

 

“Hand me the remote, kid.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, just…”

 

[me too]

 

“Jesse.”

 

[talk later]

 

“Christ, I’m gonna…”

 

[please??]

 

He only barely dodges Reyes’ lazy swat at him, and shoves his phone into the couch cushions before he can see Hanzo’s response.

 

“You’re a real stickler, old man,” Jesse mutters, handing Reyes the remote.

 

Long accustomed to compartmentalization, Jesse tamps down on the niggling desire to reach for his phone and read Hanzo’s words. He swallows it back until it’s not even a speck in his conscience to spread out, kicking his legs back up in Reyes’ lap. It works this time - Reyes doesn’t force him off.

 

Which turns out to be a long con, as Reyes clamps a hand around his ankle at the crossroads of a jumpscare and Jesse shoving a fistful of popcorn into his gullet. Hacking and wheezing around the popcorn in his windpipe, Jesse gets buttery fingers all over his face and popcorn all over himself. Sullenly, he jerks his feet away to put himself to rights to the tune of Reyes’ snicker.

 

He spends the rest of the movie hoarding all the popcorn from his boss and trying to follow a plot both too basic and too complex for the human brain. When the credits finally roll, Reyes stands and stretches. A few joints pop, earning him some jibes about his age, and he flicks an errant kernel of corn from the floor to Jesse’s head.

 

They say their goodnights not long after, Reyes retiring to his room with a bottle of water, and Jesse…

 

Jesse takes his phone and retreats to the kitchenette for a cup of coffee. He ignores the work emails and texts from everyone but Hanzo, who has left only two in his absence.


	7. Chapter 7

One is a message, and the other an image file. It’s a quick snapshot of the sliding doors in Hanzo’s room, wide open to the rock garden beyond. Though it’s too dark to see what lies far beyond the doors at night, Jesse is more interested in the warm light that coats Hanzo’s wooden walls in a homey glow. He must have gotten a plant, or been given one, judging by the leaves falling into the room from the side of the door.  A blurry blue mass mars the bottom of the shot, and it takes a minute for him to recognize the shade as Hanzo’s pajama pants. He must have propped his phone up on a knee for the shot.

 

Endearing. Jesse is endeared, and when he swallows, it has a hard time going down. 

 

Below the picture, Hanzo has written:

 

[You are close? Perhaps you will fall through the open doors if I am patient.]

 

It's hard not to - move. He wants to do  _ something _ . He wants to take action when there's no action he could possibly take in this moment. If Jesse McCree had his druthers, he’d tip his hat to the mission and book a red eye straight to Hanamura.

 

There’s only one way he’d be permitted -  _ legally  _ \- to do anything of the sort, and to be frank, he probably wouldn’t even given the opportunity. But…

 

[wish i could]

 

[more than anything. I mean that]

 

He takes the fresh cup of coffee to his own room and makes himself comfortable in the wicker chair in the corner. He can hear the South Korean news blaring through the wall to Reyes’ room.

 

Hanzo’s online. Relief swells in Jesse’s gut.

 

[hey]

 

[Hello again.]

 

Jesse smiles against the hot ceramic rim of his mug. [what are u up to honeybee]

 

It’s not terribly late. The city beyond the window is lit up with activity. It holds Jesse’s gaze before his periphery catches the new message that pops up on his screen. 

 

[May I call you?]

 

The speed at which Jesse rocks upright nearly sends the coffee into his lap. He spares a glance to the wall separating Reyes and himself before calling Hanzo directly. 

 

It takes a few rings, but when Hanzo finally picks up, it’s like the first gulp of air after a dive. Jesse’s a sap. Hanzo made him a sap. “Hey,” he says. His voice sounds rough to his ears, but in his chest he feels on the verge of breathless. 

 

On the other line, soft classical string music is playing. It’s a shamisen, he thinks, probably playing on Hanzo’s laptop.

 

Hanzo’s quiet laughter joins the melody. “Hello. Again.”

 

Jesse rubs a hand over the coarse hair on his jaw. “I ought to warn you, I’m feelin’ real sentimental right now.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Could get soppy.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“All on account of thinkin’ about your pretty little smile.”

 

“... Jesse.”

 

“And your icy toes in the mornin’. And how you can’t go a morning without your tea. Can’t really understand it, it ain’t caffeinated ‘n’ far as I know green tea doesn’t have addictive properties, but… I miss the smell sometimes. ‘Cause it meant you were nearby.” He slowly leans back again, bringing the coffee to his lips. “And honey, I sorely wish you were nearby.”

 

On the other line, Hanzo slowly exhales. “You were right. This is sentimental.”

 

They go through the pleasantries - Jesse asks him about his day, Hanzo is careful not to ask too much about Jesse’s, and they go on with their back and forth to pass the night. Eventually, the sound of the tv in the next room disappears, and Jesse starts to lower his voice.

 

It’s getting late, and they have places to be come 0600 hours, but Jesse doesn’t want to say goodbye.

 

When he says so, it rests between them both light for its candor and heavy for all the things left unsaid. 

 

“Hey, sweetheart…”

 

“I would like to see you.” He sounds imperious, a tone he only really ever takes with Jesse when it’s used to mask a vulnerable heart. Jesse reads him loud and clear. “Soon.”

 

It’s always been an implication - even a stretch of the word, given how blatant it comes across when they speak unpressed desires to one another when the timing is just right. There’s always been an agreement, spoken and unspoken, about the great wide future. 

 

Jesse feels a little flustered. He also feels his heartbeat steady.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing himself out of the chair to look over the lights of the city. After this mission, he’ll set things in motion. Talk to Reyes. Check flights. Bully some free time into the schedule Overwatch has levied on him. And maybe, maybe there’s something he can do about future visits, too, if Hanzo... “Yeah, honey. I think you will.”

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hanzo’s eyes are as big as dinner plates, and it ain’t just a saying. They’re fiery gold and soak Jesse in like a sponge. Jesse drops his bags and takes a step closer, and that alone spurs a pair of claws to drag Hanzo’s monstrous form across the space between them. 

 

Even the softest touch of his wide snout sends Jesse stumbling, but he’s quick to right himself and rakes his fingers over Hanzo’s muzzle.

 

“You’re a big one, ain’t you.”

 

Hanzo’s snort blasts him with hot air. 

 

“I am a dragon,” comes his rumbling cadence, so deep that Jesse might mistake him as the voice of a mountain. Goosebumps pucker all up and down his arms. He laughs a little breathlessly as he combs through whiskers as long as his own legs. 

 

“Hell yeah you are.”

 

Jesse doesn’t need the ears of a wolf to hear Genji’s pointed throat-clearing behind them. “It was nice to see you, Jesse! We are heading out for… other activities. Elsewhere!”

 

Another snort from Hanzo makes Jesse feel like he’s stepped into a sauna, muggy and just shy of scorching. “Yup. Loud and clear, Genji.”

 

Genji does carry on a little, even as Zenyatta shepherds him away from the doors of the dojo, but as their voices recede, Jesse finds himself alone with Hanzo. It’s been months. The fur and flesh around Hanzo’s wide mouth are leagues softer than the rest of him, and warmer. His all-encompassing breath is bitter, like he’s been drinking his favorite tea.

 

Jesse sighs, closing his eyes and tapping his forehead to Hanzo’s furred snout. Slowly, he lets the change come over himself - not to its fullest, for want of maintaining the integrity of his jeans - but just enough to feel his heightened senses prickle at the edges. Raking his claws over Hanzo’s jowls elicits a low, reverberating rumble that Jesse echoes without pause. 

 

“This is a good look on you, honeybee.”

 

Hanzo nudges at him, nearly sending Jesse sprawling. Jesse has to surmise that the rockslide of noise coming from Hanzo’s throat is a chuckle. “Thank you. It has been… a long time coming.”

 

Most of this has been a long time coming, as far as Jesse is concerned. 

 

He never does slip out of his boots or shimmy out of his clothes - Jesse McCree has been on a commercial flight for thirteen hours. His feet are ripe, and he feels like he hasn’t bathed in a year; that really isn’t the mood he’s hoping to set after being parted from Hanzo for so long. 

 

Still, he doesn’t want to leave Hanzo just to freshen up either. Not when he’s taken to his inner form so beautifully. Jesse’s eyes could drink their fill for days. Hanzo takes that choice from his hands when he nudges Jesse again, snorting into his stomach. “You smell terrible.”

 

A dopey sort of smile pulls at Jesse’s lips. “Aw, thank you sugar. That’s my patented recycled hair sweat stain must.”

 

Hanzo pulls back his lips in a grimace under Jesse’s hands. “Take a bath. And burn your clothes.”

 

“Hoo! That’s a little harsh, ain’t it?” Jesse prods. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Hanzo rears back enough to showcase his proud furred neck, his molten gaze, his - very, very pointy grimace. “Woof.”

 

Hanzo’s head cocks to the side before he grunts and slowly starts to shrink. With rapt fascination, Jesse watches the legendary beast slowly tighten and contract into the beloved form he came to know. Bare and proud, Hanzo regards Jesse with an air of playful disdain.

 

“This is my sentiment also. Have you smelled under your arms?”

 

Jesse spreads his hands out with a scoff. “Now that’s a funny thing! You sure as hell ain’t got a problem bein’ buck-ass naked where God and anyone can see, but you don’t have an appreciation for a man’s natural musk?”

 

“Neither has anything to do with the other,” Hanzo insists, tipping his chin up. 

 

“Au contraire!” Jesse starts, shuffling his feet in the direction Hanzo wills him. “They both got everything to do with… you know.” He hooks his claws. “You know.”

 

He doesn’t end up in the bathhouse alone. On the contrary, Hanzo sticks to him like white on rice as he bullies Jesse through familiar halls and into the steam of the bathhouse. His desire to be close does nothing to temper the comments he makes at the whiff of Jesse’s feet once he peels the sweat-plastered socks away. His admonishments slow, and then they halt when Jesse steps under the spray of a showerhead to rinse himself of the worst of the grime.

 

Under the rush of water, Hanzo pushes close, lifting his hands to Jesse’s face and smoothing his blunt nails over his beard. Looks like Hanzo’s starting to grow one too. That could be worth exploring. Later.

 

For now - in this moment - Jesse leans into his warm palm and feels his eyelids droop.

 

There will be time to think of the future later. For now… this is all he really ever wanted. This, and lots of it.

 

“I am glad you returned to me,” says Hanzo, slipping his fingers into Jesse’s hair, and Jesse’s orbit shifts ever closer. 

 

“Oh darlin’, you have no idea.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a high fantasy comic about a wandering bard! [Check it out from the beginning HERE!](https://bardbouquet.tumblr.com/post/179195348759/a-dwarven-heirloom-a-blade-in-the-dark-and-a)
> 
> Inquire about fic reque$ts [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589


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